Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sometimes, Amy misses Centropolis. Not because she’s particularly fond of the smog (that is often so thick that she didn’t realize the slight burn in her lungs with every inhale wasn’t normal until she left the city), or fond of the consistent sirens blowing past (no matter what street she’s on), or the constant spotlight shining down on her from Superhero Tower (making her feel exposed, and like they are always watching her when she ventures topside).

       But all those things were familiar. That city was familiar, and when she often couldn’t sleep at night, she’d find herself mindlessly walking those streets, breathing the smoggy air and letting her face burn from the hero beacon. Her thoughts would quiet as she walked the mostly empty downtown, and even if she did come across people, she was never bothered. No one decent would be out that late, so they’d be unlikely to call the heroes on her.

       Valley View is… different, to say the least. It’s even nice, a lot of times, but a lot of other times, she can’t get over the utter silence. But, no, that’s not right, either- there’s just a different noise as she walks the dark streets of suburban Texas. A faint, background cadence of cicadas and crickets and other creatures that would never survive the urban hellhole of her home city.  

       She often gets distracted by the stars. So many and so stretching in the big black sky. It was never actually dark in Centropolis- not topside, at least. The tunnels and the sewers were a swallowing darkness, but the topside was bathed in light pollution, casting the shadows into even sharper shades.

       Tonight, the clouds have rolled in, carrying with it a warm, humid breeze in the normally dry town. With the natural light from above blocked out, the darkness is even more stretching, the silence more eerie. Her powers don’t bounce off tunnel walls, close and guiding, but stretch and stretch away from her, and it feels like she’s walking into empty space.

       Her equilibrium feels flipped and like she’ll just tilt over into nothingness. The world feels so vacant to her senses, like she’s all alone in it. She often fantasises about wandering a deserted wasteland, the last person on Earth, and during and after the dream, she can’t tell if it was a good or bad one, but in these moments, she leans a little more toward the misery.

       It’s disquieting, to say the least. She aches for the familiar cacophony of Centropolis streets- the bouncing echo of being surrounded by something .

       She knows she can return to her room. To her house (that is still so strange to her- that she lives in a house, sleeps on a bed, has her own room). But she goes on these night walks for a reason- same as when the squeaking rats failed to lull her into slumber back in her Centropolis subway car, and the prospect of returning is just as daunting as the echoing, empty dark.

       Discomfort squirms under her skin as she thinks about either option. Neither will make her want to scream any less. If she were in Centropolis, she could scream all she wanted. No one would bat an eye at flashing car alarms, or damaged property, or a girl screaming at the top of her supernatural, smog burning lungs.

       She doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what she can do to get this itch out from under her skin and her whirling mind to stop, and her lungs keep inflating a little too naturally much. This is not working. She turns back to make her way to the house.

       It’s too quiet . There’s too much space in her head for her thoughts to run away from her. They echo too loudly in her skull, senseless and chaotic, like her powers stretching, stretching, everything is too far away-

       Amy blinks and finds herself standing in front of a house. It’s not her house, though, and she turns to look across the rose bushes to the dark, looming, open window she had climbed out of she-doesn’t-know how long ago.

       Then she turns back to the home definitively not hers and circles around the back to climb the side of the structure. She finds her way along the roof, to her friend’s window on the second story, through touch and memory. She is half-disappointed in her friend when she discovers it unlocked. It slides open easily and soundlessly under her hands, and she crawls into the dark room.

       She stands there a moment, only seeing the dimmest of shapes with only the cute little sun-shaped nightlight by the door. Hartley’s breathing fills the room, slow and calm. Amy’s automatically slows to match it- quieting to hear it- ears strain to anticipate it.

       Something in Amy’s chest loosens, and within a few seconds, the majority of the tension in her muscles ease. She hesitates in front of the window, and then crosses the short distance to the bed. She can barely see her friend’s shape on the top of it, just a lump of blankets and possibly-dirty, possibly-clean, clothes.

       Amy sinks down onto the floor beside the bed, shaping out a little hollow in another pile of garments.

       The wind rustles the curtains, and Hartley’s breathing fills Amy’s ears, and her smell clings to the clothes under her cheek. Amy’s head grows quiet. Quiet enough for drowsiness to wash over her in an unnerving wave and drag her unnaturally quickly toward unconsciousness.

………………

For a moment, Hartley doesn’t know what wakes her. She sits up in bed, sleep heavy in her muddled brain and clinging to her eyelids. She shivers, brain slowly coming more awake even though she fights trying to wake further. She blinks, turning her eyes to the window and the curtains gently billowing into the room- two dark shadows reaching toward her on the bed. She can hear the gentle tapping of rain on the windowsill and the side of the house, and the desk in front of the window is already shiny in the dim light.

       She yawns, blinking at the mess, brain still slow. She doesn’t remember opening her window.

       Then something shifts inside her room, something large, on her floor. Hartley nearly screams, fear lodging in her throat and waking her instantly as she throws herself to the opposite side of the bed and twists her lamp on.

       The thing grunts, a little foreign whimper. Restless and in pain.

       Hartley quickly crawls across the bed and looks at her floor. “Amy?” she croaks, confused. Why is she on the floor? If she came in last night, why didn’t she join her in the bed? It’s not like they haven’t shared one before.

       Amy doesn’t turn to look at her. She is very distinctly asleep. She makes that huffing whine again, face all scrunched up and shiny. For a moment, Hartley feels frozen staring at it. She tries to remember if she’s ever actually seen Amy cry. She’s come near tears a couple times, eyes all glassy, face painted in hurt and jaw locked, but they’ve never fallen. She’s never let them fall.

       Her frozen surprise breaks with an actual sob falling from her friend’s lips. Hartley scrambles from the bed onto the floor. Her pile of wear-again clothes is slightly damp from the rain, and she can feel it misting against her back, splashing off the desk with every raindrop.

       “Amy,” Hartley says, reaching out and gripping her shoulder. She flinches, mouth opening, and Hartley’s heart pounds as the air almost seems to shiver as she cries. “ Amy ,” she says again, more urgent as she shakes her.

       Amy jolts into an upright position, sucking in a sharp, deep breath, and Hartley lunges forward, slapping a hand over her mouth. She gives a weak, muffled cry, trying to twist away, and snot blows out across the back of Hartley’s hand, but she doesn’t dare let up the pressure across her girlfriend’s mouth.

       “ Shhh shhh, it’s okay. It’s just me. Do not sonic blast me. Just breathe.” Amy’s eyes are wild, darting around the room and not quite focussing on anything as her chest heaves and her hands come up to claw at Hartley’s wrist.

       More snot bubbles out of her nose and suctions back in, and she has to risk letting go, because it’s very clear that Amy isn’t getting enough air. She lifts her hand away, letting it hover in the air, ready to come back down if it looks like her friend is about to release a scream, but she’s not even getting enough air for a full breath.

       She wheezes, not fighting against Hartley’s hand anymore, but clawing at her own chest as she presses her back against the edge of the bed. “Amy? Easy, just breathe. You’re okay.”

       Amy very much does not seem okay, though, especially when a giant boom cracks through the air, shaking the entire house, and even Hartley can feel it vibrating through the air, raising the hairs on her arm. Amy flinches, hard, drawing her knees up so quickly to her chest that she hits herself in the chin.

       “Hey, Amy. Amy, it’s okay,” Hartley pleads, reaching out again to touch her face. She grabs a random shirt nearby and runs it under her nose. Then she discards it and cups the other side of her face, running her thumb along the tear tracks and trying to get brown eyes to focus on her. “Amy, you’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe. Focus on me.”

       “I-” a gust of air escapes her, barely more than a sound squeezing out her throat. “H-hart?”

       Relief floods through her at the recognition. “Yes, baby. It’s Hartley. You’re okay. I need you to slow your breathing for me. Can you do that?”

       “C-can’t-” she gasps, squeezing her eyes shut, and she grips Hartley’s wrists- too tightly- trying to once again look around the room.

       “Yes, you can,” Hartley insists, tugging her face back toward her. She scoots forward, close enough that she can settle more comfortably on the floor, letting the pressure off her knees and lean forward enough to press her forehead against Amy’s. She takes her own exaggerated breath. “Like this. Match me. Deep breath.”

       For a moment, it feels like she tries, but then there is another flash and rumble from overhead. Not near as booming, but still loud, and the rumbling continues on for several seconds. Amy winces, what little air she managed rushing out as she clenches her eyes shut and shakes her head.

       “I can’t- I can’t- Hartley-”

       “You can,” Hartley insists again, moving her hold from Amy’s face, down her arms. She’s not gentle, dragging them down, then back up, then down again, hoping the physical input will help. Amy doesn’t withdraw when Hartley is no longer holding her in place. She continues pressing her forehead against hers, almost painfully. “Try again,” she prompts, taking another exaggerated breath.

       Amy doesn’t exactly match her, but she makes visible attempts, starting to inhale, shaky and shuddering, before it rushes out of her on something not quite a sob, but something close. Each attempt, though, gets her a little more air before it’s rushing right back out. Hartley tries to be patient. She tries not to let the shaking in her own body, in her hands, be too obvious. Every time Hartley pauses her rubbing of Amy’s arm to offer a little squeeze- at her shoulder, her elbow, even higher to grip either side of her face again- Amy squeezes her wrists back.

       When Amy’s exhales become less like the air is being yanked away from her, and more controlled on the way out, some of the tension in her friend’s body loosens. Her hands lose their stranglehold on her numbing wrists, tracing down her arm to grip weakly at her elbows, and her tightly drawn knees fall slightly to the side, only stopped from falling all the way by Hartley’s own criss-crossed legs being in their path.

       Her back aches from leaning forward for so long, so when she feels the dramatic shift, she withdraws. The cool air of the room feels good on the spot Amy’s hot face had been pressed against hers. Hartley doesn’t give her a moment to panic the distance, tugging on her girlfriend’s arms and pulling her into her lap. Her arms immediately circle around Hartley’s neck as she tucks her face into her hair.

       Her girlfriend’s body still flinches every time a rumble sounds overhead, but it sounds like the storm is passing. The rain has all but stopped, with only the steady runoff trickle of leftover water going down the gutters.

       Hartley keeps taking slow, deep, breaths. It’s actually helping her to calm down, too, or at least keep her from spiraling as her brain churns with the events of the last hour. Her hands come up and splay across her friend’s back, holding her to her.

       After a while, she feels Amy try to withdraw, so she loosens her hold and allows it. Hartley stares hard at her face as it comes into view, red and damp and Amy avoiding her eyes. Hartley grabs another random shirt, possibly the same one, and uses it to clean her friend’s face again. Amy catches her hand before she can finish, gently bringing the cloth down to their laps as she twists her fingers through the material.

       “I’m sorry,” she says, voice almost a croak.

       “Don’t be,” Hartley says, brushing a thumb over her cheek. Amy tilts her face into the hand, eyes fluttering closed as she sighs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

       “No.” Amy kisses Hartley’s palm before lifting her head and reaching out to play with Hartley’s necklace. Her heart speeds up. She searches for something to say.

       “Why were you on the floor?”

       “I don’t know,” Amy says. “Didn’t want to wake you. It seemed easier.”

       “Well, next time just get in the bed. And close the window. Who knows what kind of weirdos and freaks might be tempted to climb through it.”

       Amy huffs, lips quirking up in a smile as her eyes finally flick up to meet hers. Hartley relaxes, seeing a familiar spark in them. “Well maybe you should start locking your window like I told you to. Being on the second story won’t deter anyone who actually wants to get in.”

       “But then how would you get in in the dead of night?” Hartley retorts, honestly not concerned about anyone climbing through her window except for Amy. Or, possibly one of the other Maddens, but they have to have gotten bored of snooping through her house by now.

       “And you want that? What if I just want to snoop?”

       “You’ve already snooped through everything, Amy! There is literally nothing in this house you haven’t riffled through. You even read my diary! Twice!”

       “Well of course I had to go back and read page 55 after the big deal you made of it. And a good thing I did, too, otherwise I never would have found out how disgustingly in love with me you are.”

       Hartley rolls her eyes. Amy is infuriating . It’s really unfortunate that she’s also so magnetic. Her heart jumps as Amy tilts forward and brushes the gentlest of kisses against her lips, leaving behind the salty tang of tears. “Good thing I felt the same way,” she murmurs just as breath away.

       “Good thing,” Hartley agrees, leaning forward and claiming her lips again, just for a moment. Then Amy is leaning away with a giant yawn that she tries to smother with the back of her hand. Hartley offers a small, fond smile. Even with Amy acting very much like herself the past few minutes, she still looks utterly exhausted. “Ready to go back to sleep?”

       “Not likely,” Amy grumbles.

       Hartley snorts and loops her arms low on Amy’s back, getting raised eyebrows from her girlfriend for a moment before she shifts forward, rocking onto her knees. Amy yelps, clutching at Hartley’s shoulders as she tips backward, but Hartley has a steady hold to keep her from falling out of her lap.

       Amy isn’t all that heavy, but it’s still a bit difficult going from the floor to a standing position, all without letting the other girl’s feet touch the ground. She manages though, with Amy lightly cursing in her ear and clinging tighter to her every time she nearly tips over or drops her.

       “Don’t fucking drop me,” she grumbles as Hartley makes it to her feet, a bit breathless.

       “Not a chance,” Hartley reassures, crossing the extremely short distance to the bed and sliding onto it with her girlfriend.

       “I said I won’t sleep,” she sighs, loosening her death grip as Hartley settles them both into the bed and tugs the covers up over them.

       “That’s fine,” Hartley says, plucking up the tear stained shirt that got trapped between their bodies and discarding it off the edge of the bed. She guesses it’s her dirty pile, now. Especially since she’s not sure which one has all of the snot on it. “It’s just more comfortable up here than on the floor.”

       “It’s not the worst place I’ve slept,” Amy defends.

       “It’s probably the worst you’ve slept when there was also a perfectly good bed directly next to it,” Hartley retorts, tugging Amy flush against her again once she feels settled and comfortable. Amy’s head falls easily against her chest without any thought or fight.

       “Fair,” she says around another yawn. It triggers one in Hartley, too. All of her adrenaline has died out, leaving her feeling exhausted and sleepy- especially with her girlfriend relaxed and pliant in her arms. She hums contentedly, running her fingers through the curling baby hair on the back of her neck. “That’s not…” Amy slurs a bit, trailing off, “that’s not going to work.”

       “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hartley murmurs, running her finger down the line of her spine and back up to the base of her skull. Amy shivers and nuzzles further against her, huffing out a heavy breath- letting out more air than she’s inhaled all night. For a moment, her lungs are still. Then they inflate slowly. Out. Hartley counts three breaths. “Amy?” she whispers.

       No answer comes. Just steady, breathing.

       Hartley lets her heavy, slightly burning eyes, close. She despairs at the thought of having to wake up again in only a couple hours. School is… going to be rough. Maybe Amy is going to finally succeed in convincing Hartley to just skip it.

       Well, not the whole day. Maybe just the first class or two.